“My Mommy Has Been Sleeping for Three Days”—A Six-Year-Old Arrived at the Hospital With Newborn Twins in a Wheelbarrow
Clara put down her cup.
“I’ve got them,” she told Chloe.
“You can leave the garden for now.”
“I was finished anyway.”
She set the tool where it belonged, rather than dropping it where a running brother would find it with his foot.
She liked being capable.
She also liked being allowed to be finished.
School had become a full part of her world: books she carried around until the covers bent, friendships with their own small disagreements, soccer practices, assignments she sometimes left later than she should.
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